Blood of the Wolf
by Emmy Smokes
Summary: Jon and Arya say goodbye twice. Promises are made and kept. Incest, but of the tame and implied variety.
1. a subtle kiss that no one sees

**Blood of the Wolf**

_**by Emmy Smokes**_

Part I – A subtle kiss that no one sees

They're about to cross the castle's gates when his eyes meet hers. He's been searching for her instinctively, he realizes, ever since he left. It's the wolf in them, he thinks. At his side, Ghost stops just as he does. Perhaps he's also tracked his packmate down and, like Jon, he's waiting for her in the cold, his heart frozen, his blood turned to ice.

She's pressed against the wall, her body draped in so many blankets and coats—black, Jon notes—only the snow in her face and the burning in her eyes are visible, and for a moment they're both so still that Jon thinks he's looking at her grave, the one they'd carve one day to keep her away at the Stark crypts, along with his siblings and his father and everyone he loved.

But she is no vision—she is right here. And when Uncle Benjen asks him a question, Jon realizes he's here too.

_"_I said, it's always hard saying goodbye to the place you once called home,_"_ Benjen seemed to be repeating himself, but Jon pays no mind to his irritated tone of voice.

_"_It is,_"_ he answers vaguely. _"_You go ahead, Uncle. I will catch up with you._"_

Uncle Benjen surveys him for a moment. Then, deciding he's passed some sort of secret test, he gives him a curt nod. _"_Take as much time as you need, son._"_

Jon watches them go before dismounting. Still he waits a little more. He's not sure why or what it is he's waiting for, he just does. Something shuffles. _"_What are you doing here_?__"_ he asks to a girl he can't see. _"_You should be in Winterfell by the fire, not out here in the cold._"_

He hears her struggle with the blankets, groan, and finally discard them. He wants to go help her, wants to mess up her hair and say something about little girls always needing their big brothers' help, but the only thing he does is hold his breath. He is no longer her big brother, not truly.

She is right there in front of him before he can take in the sound of her ragged breathing, the sight of the flush that goes from the tip of her nose and stretches across the expanse of her cheeks. She is facing him with her stubborn face, the one she makes when her mother reminds her of the things ladies shouldn't do, the one that means she's made up her mind and there is nothing Jon can do about it.

_"_You're not coming with us,_"_ Jon blurts out, suddenly very much aware of Nymeria's presence, of the bundle of clothes, of the very Arya-ness of it all. _"_The Wall is no place for a girl—_"_

_"_I just came to say goodbye, idiot. Properly,_"_ she adds like an afterthought. The way she pronounces the word makes Jon think she's just become aware of its meaning.

_"_We've already said goodbye, little—Arya._"_

His heart clenches in his chest. And somehow, he knows she's fighting some sort of inner battle too. _It's the wolves_, he thinks.

But he isn't watching the wolves, he is watching Arya. It hits him now that this might be the last time he'll ever see her. He is sure, at least, that he'll never attend her wedding, or watch her fall in love for the first time, or see her use Needle—so he watches as her blush spreads and Jon pretends he is there with her, holding her hand.

_"_You must be freezing,_"_ he says, mostly because someone has to say something.

_"_I'm going to miss you,_"_ he hears her whisper. _"_I don't want you to leave..._"_

Jon sees the tears freeze before they finish their slow descent down her cheeks. He wants to wipe them off for her, but he doesn't think it's his place. Not anymore.

_"_I don't want to leave you either,_"_ he tells her truthfully. _"But." he smiles as he lies, "I'll_ see you at Sansa's wedding and we'll throw lemon cakes at Prince Joffrey together._"_

She pretends to believe him, even chuckles and smiles like she did when they'd first said goodbye back at the castle.

Then her laughter dies, and with it the stars seemed to dim a little. _The blood of the wolf_, Jon reminds himself.

_"_You have to promise me something,_"_ she sayd in a voice that hints at secrets and danger and all that is forbidden. _"_And you must promise me true._"_

Jon holds her hands and speaks into the darkness, _"_I will, as long as it is a promise I can keep._"_

Arya's fingers intertwine with his. They're surprisingly warm and unsurprisingly gentle. She steps a little closer, so close he can see the eyelash that rests on her left cheek, and has to resist the urge to wipe it off for her. Then she speaks so softly that it takes him a moment to understand that she's asked, _"__P_romise me that we will see each other again._"_

It is the fourth or sixth smile she's drawn out of him that night—he's lost count. His fingers stroke hers tenderly when he says he'll keep that promise gladly.

_"_Good,_"_ Arya says regally, as if she'd expected nothing less._"_Because I _will_ see you again._"_ Her lips brushes his quickly. _"_I swear._"_

As he watches her run towards the castle, the warmth of her touch lingers on his fingers, on his lips, on his chest. _The wolf's blood runs strong in both of us_, he thinks.


	2. the drop dead dream, the Chosen One

**Blood of the Wolf**

by Emmy Smokes

**Part II – **_**the loaded gun, the drop dead dream, the Chosen One**_

Over the years she's donned and discarded many a mask as serpents change their skins, not to renew herself, but to survive. She's been Arya Stark of Winterfell and Arry the orphaned boy and Weasel and Nan and Cat of the canals and Beth the blind girl and countless others.

But unlike others in her trade, she remembers, for wolves do not forget.

It's becoming harder every day, however, keeping track of all the faces and the names and the killings. Perhaps this is why she never threw Needle away.

Her next assignment is her most difficult yet, but it's the only one of any use to her, for it will bring her closer to Westeros, bring her closer to all the people whose names she cannot forget, not even when she is somebody else.

Ser Gregor. Dunsen. Ser Ilyn. Ser Meryn. Queen Cersei. Valar morghulis.

She holds onto these words, long after she's forgotten everything else.

Her assignment takes her to a far-off city in a land she no longer recognizes. It is ravaged by death and everywhere she looks there's ashes and smoke. She sees hungry men with hungry eyes. She sees dead babes on their mothers' cold breasts. The snow falls as they die.

The Pretender, her latest identity reminds her. Watch him. Kill him. End all this.

It's not difficult to find people when you've learned how. It takes time, but the girl without a name has also been taught patience.

She catches her first glimpse of him on the battlefield, long after the fighting is done. His armor is bright and there's snow in his hair and blood in his hands. He's lost a lot of men, and, even from a distance, he appears beaten as he wanders through the field alone. He kicks a helmet or two. A squire follows him.

She lists all she's learned in her head. She bides her time. Then the day comes and she prepares to kill him.

Valar morghulis, her old self reminds her.

Valar dohaeris, someone seems to whisper back.

But there is no one in the tent except he and she, and his back is turned to her. Not that he'd be able to sense her anyway.

Her eyes go to his untouched cup, to his sword, to his exposed neck. There are many ways to go about this, but when it comes to kings and queens—even if they're of the false kind—there is only one way she likes to go about it.

Needle is ready for him when he turns. She's ready to leave when she sees his face.

"Jon," Arya chokes as if it's she who's dying. And she is.

His reply is cut short by the trickle of blood that escapes his body through his open mouth.

His eyes shine darkly before the face of death. They are not the eyes of Arya Stark's brother, only the eyes of a man she once loved and who always loved her. She removes Needle cleanly, out of habit, before he falls and she catches him in her arms.

He wouldn't know her, she thinks, but somehow he does. Somewhere, Ghost is howling, and so is Nymeria.

"You kept your promise," she whispers. She's not sure he's listening. There's blood everywhere and all Arya wants is to die with him, here, now, in this tent.

Before he's gone, she presses a harsh kiss to his lips as she did so many lifetimes ago. With that kiss and this kill she sheds the last bit of Arya Stark that remains.

She has no tears left, not even for him. Arya Stark used to weep. The girl without a name does not.

Valar morghulis.


End file.
